This is a true story about exposing my modest but lovely wife to strangers, in a public humiliation she was helpless to prevent.  It’s something she would never agree to, so arranging it took some doing.  Since what I am writing really happened, and I am paranoid that some acquaintance may put two and two together and figure out who we are, I will call my wife Julie though that isn't her real name. And if you are wondering why I am going to such trouble to describe many minor details in writing, I am doing it for myself, so months and years from now I can reread this and fully experience the thrills I felt at the time.

One thing I discovered about my wife, which I now use to my advantage, is that every once in a while she likes to play "dress up". You see in every day life we are fairly casual people. We tend not to spend much money on clothing, or on going to fancy events, since we would rather spend it on travel, which we both enjoy.  Both Julie and I are middle aged. We met in our late 20's but had similar experiences growing up. When we were teens virtually everything formal was looked down on by our circles of friends. Call it a lingering 60's influence I suppose. Anyway, Julie skipped her Senior Prom and never dressed glamorously to go out on dates. I found out several years ago, however, while shopping at thrift stores together (we love finding interesting or off beat bargains) that my wife has a real eye for well made, well designed, "fancy clothes". Julie rarely bought them because they didn't fit well into our lifestyle, and she hesitated to buy clothes that would seldom get worn.

The great thing about thrift stores though is that most everything is inexpensive, so it opens up doors for experimentation. I saw Julie pick out some real classy clothes sometimes, though she almost always put them back, and they included some items I was surprised she even considered, because they weren't nearly as conservative as what she normally wore. I was slow to pick up on it at first, but boy lights started going on for me when I realized what was happening.

This was the road not taken, a side to Julie she never got to explore, though like every woman in America, those classic feminine images were always all around and affecting her. Though a few years past 40 now, Julie is a very attractive woman, 5' 7" with shoulder length brown hair and a trim, killer figure. Her 36C's are my heart's desire. OK, maybe they once hung a tad higher, but her breasts remain lush and nicely perched. No one would ever say that Julie's tits sagged, they are soft and full and virtually beg for fondling. And in the right clothes they become irresistible eye magnets. The trick is getting Julie into them.

I started paying closer attention to what Julie was drawn to, and learned to use that information toward my own end, which if you haven't already figured it out, is to expose my wife as much as possible in public. I found that there are certain colors and fabrics that Julie almost can't resist, lavender and silk are two examples. If clothes have some special touch, an interesting cut, quality tailoring, or just an expressive feminine look that catches her eye, Julie always finds them tempting.

Women always seem to have more to look at in stores than guys do, so when I got bored in a thrift store I began looking for things my wife might like. But mostly I looked for things I would like to see my wife wearing, and that usually meant the most revealing clothing I had the slightest chance of convincing Julie to leave our house in. It was the start of a multi year project of mine to get my intrinsically shy wife to wear increasingly sexy clothing.

That is a full story in itself which I won't go into now except to make two points that relate to the incident I am about to describe. The first is that a long build up preceded talking Julie into the dress she had on during the night in question. The second ties back to travel. We live within commuting distance to Manhattan but we moved here fairly recently from another state, and New York is still new to Julie. To my wife Manhattan is almost as exotic as London or Paris. To make a very long story short, we have slowly evolved an arrangement. I encourage Julie to buy quality "provocative" clothes in Thrift Stores (quality is the key, Julie balks at anything she thinks looks "trashy") by arguing that, since they are so cheap, it's OK if she never finds a situation suitable for wearing them. That of course is the critical first step, getting revealing clothes out of the store and into Julie's closet. Silk is great because it is so often sheer, and anything that shows a lot of cleavage is on my short list also.

Then I dangle Manhattan in front of her, or more to the point, I wait for her to mention it to me. It's enough of a trip for us that it really is too time consuming to spend an evening there without spending a night in a hotel, and Manhattan hotels aren't cheap. So I usually counter by suggesting that we go out somewhere local, but I let my wife know that if she would be willing to wear such and such outfit that I never get to see her in, I would break down and do Manhattan with her. It is the perfect storm for talking my wife into doing something she ordinarily would never dream of.

Julie loves the excitement of going into the city but she can see how it is impractical for us, in time, money, and hours spent away from my business, to do so with any frequency. And my wife very much does want to please me, so if there is something she can do to get me excited about travailing to Manhattan also, that lifts the burden of guilt off her for suggesting it. Plus Julie honestly likes the clothes we bring home from thrift stores, she's just embarrassed about actually wearing them. But since I now know about the part of Julie that likes dressing up, that is what I feed on. That and the anonymity of the big city where no one will know us and anything goes. As a result I have gotten Julie into Manhattan wearing clothing that she truly is uncomfortable being seen in, but that look classy enough on her that she doesn't feel like a total tramp while wearing them.

Julie rationalizes that since some cosmopolitan women dress that way in Manhattan, there is nothing "wrong" about her doing it, and my wife always gets caught up in the excitement of being there. That thrill works enough of the time for her to overcome the haunting feeling that she's terribly exposed, while I live for the moments when Julie becomes a public target for male sexual energy. I spend a lot of time and money waiting for those moments, and Julie is mortified when they actually happen, but given enough time her desire to go back to Manhattan gets the best of her, and we repeat the experience. And each time that we do I am usually able to talk her into wearing something just a touch more sheer or revealing, as Julie is very slowly acclimating to the experience.

I have to admit that there is something perversely erotic about slowly guiding my reserved and inhibited wife into accepting ever more brazen public displays of her luscious boobs to total strangers. The fact that Julie is obviously conflicted and reluctant just heightens the challenge and thrill for me in showing her off. Julies moist pussy remains off limits, because any hint of revealing that seems totally slutty to her, though lately some skirt slits have begun a climb up Julie's thighs.

OK, that pretty much takes us up to the present and the moment of perhaps my greatest triumphs in a continuing quest to expose my essentially modest wife's sweet body in public. My wife is a Democrat. You might wonder why I mention that but it very much plays into this story. Julie was very unhappy when George Bush won reelection and the fact he was going to be inaugurated again depressed her. She thought Kerry would win and was expecting to attend some celebration parties with friends. That never happened of course.

While on line Julie read something about a group of protesters who were organizing a Counter "Ball" for Inauguration Day at a DC nightclub. The idea was creative, everyone would dress up pretending to be very wealthy people to celebrate four more years of greed running rampant in America. In other words it was a political costume party, a satirical slam against Bush's richest backers, and everyone was expected to dress up for the part. Yup, evening gowns and Tuxes. Julie mentioned it to me in passing but I doubt she expected I would agree to take her. I sensed how much my wife wanted to go. I knew she thought it sounded like fun but mostly it would be a way for Julie to counteract some of her depression about Bush winning. So I surprised her by saying I might consider it, but it depended on finding her the right dress to wear.

I was honest with Julie, driving down to D.C. for a Party sounded like a crazy idea to me. It was winter, roads could be covered by snow, lots of streets in Washington would be blocked off for security on Inauguration Day. It would be a mess. Travel expenses and a hotel would add up to a lot of money, not to mention all the time and aggravation we would spend getting there and back. That was a lot to go through for a party, but I had a proposal that I thought might be workable.

I suggested we take Amtrak down from New York to D.C. on the day of the Party. There was a return train back to New York leaving from Washington at 3:30 A.M. We could stay late at the Night Club, then take that one home. The money saved by not getting a hotel for the night, plus the money not spent on car expenses would cover both our train tickets, and I wouldn't have to make that grueling round trip drive. Plus we both liked riding trains and that part could be fun. But no matter how you sliced it, it would mean a lot of time and money spent on going to a Party, which brought me back to Julie's dress.

I said I wanted to see her dress like a Hollywood Star, in an elegant but daring gown. I stressed we would be at a costume Ball, and playing the part of rich people, not ourselves. We really should act decadent, when would we ever get another chance to do so? I thought the payoff of the trip was a big enough lure that Julie might go along with it, and I was right. That is she at least agreed that we should go out looking for dresses. Julie knew it would take a daring one to get me to sign off on this plan, since she knew our game well enough by now. My motivation was to push her limits to have her look provocative.

Well the local thrift stores were a bust so I agreed we could dash into Manhattan for a day to hit up some sophisticated ones. We found a few gowns that made Julie look sexy, but I wanted something over the top, so I was holding out. On the 5th store we scored, and I have to admit I lucked out, because what we found was really elegant, and that went a long ways toward helping Julie feel comfortable with the choice.

It was a strapless black velvet evening gown that was very low cut, with a slight heart shaped dip at the center allowing a V shaped plunge between the breasts showing lots of cleavage. The back was cut low also but straight across. The front was reinforced from below the breasts, which stiffened the fabric as it curved first up, then gently around, and finally slightly away from Julie's breasts while she wore it. That uplift, along with elastic in the fabric at the side of the dress, held the top safely up, though it looked like it could fall down any second because the fabric didn't hug Julie's breasts at the front where it minimally covered her. If you stood next to or behind my wife and looked down at her chest it was easy to follow the slope of Julie's breasts curving down underneath the velvet. I don't know if Julie realized that part. I suspect the tops of my wife's nipples were exposed from that angle but the fabric overhang left a shadow over that part of her breasts making it near impossible to be sure without a flashlight.

It didn't matter, my wife looked half naked while wearing that gown, and the black velvet contrast made her pale breasts look absolutely edible. I should also mention that the skirt of the dress had a wrap around quality that caused an elegant diagonal draping of fabric when standing, but which opened to a mid thigh split while sitting if care wasn't taken to keep it properly closed. Julie didn't figure that part out until later. My wife looked stunning in that gown and she knew it. Julie didn't look cheap, she didn't look slutty, she simply looked stunning. For $55 bucks on sale, we had the perfect gown. And Julie started calling it the Prom dress she never got to wear.

When all was said and done though this trip was costing me a fortune, because to get and stay in the right frame of mind, my wife wanted all the right accessories. New dress shoes, elbow length gloves, rhinestone necklace, a useless purse, you name it. Whatever it took to help Julie feel comfortable in her role, we assembled the pieces to her costume, while I rounded up a Tux that would fit me. And all the while I silently vowed I would get my monies worth out all of this.

At first Julie wanted to buy a bustier, which made me nervous because I wanted her naked under her gown. I stressed how good she looked without one, which was true, and said we shouldn't blow more money on another piece of clothing that Julie might never wear again, all the while hoping that my intentions weren't becoming too obvious. I couldn't stop her from shopping though and she found a black long line bra on sale that seemed like it might work, so I just bit my tongue. It didn't give her quite the added uplift she expected though and it felt just a tad uncomfortable on her, which gave me the opening I needed.

You see part of the deal was we would wear our costumes on Amtrak. We really had nowhere to go to change once we made it to D.C., and I didn't want to lug around a garment bag for my Tux in any case. Since we had ridden Amtrak into Manhattan before, we knew they kept the trains warm, and Julie had a black velvet Bolero shoulder shrug that offered her a touch of modesty and warmth for the train ride. I said for the money we were spending I really want to see her in that dress all day, and Julie agreed to go along with it. Since that bra Julie bought made her gown fit a little snug, and since she was going to be wearing that gown for 24 hours from start to finish, she agreed to go without the bra.

So the day came and off we went on our adventure. Just like I thought, the Amtrak cars were well heated so Julie was able to take off her coat though she kept the bolero on. That did nothing to hide her cleavage, but it muted the effect of Julie's upper body being totally exposed. Still I wasn't complaining, Julie still looked damned hot, and for about an hour she humored me and took off the bolero too, which had me in 7th heaven. Julie was sitting in the aisle seat to keep away from window drafts so I had a pretty good idea what our fellow passengers were getting to look at when they walked past us down the aisle.

Once we got to D.C. the actual event was a lot of fun for both of us, but mostly otherwise uneventful. There were many wild outfits being worn but Julie's was definitely one of the hottest. The place was a little chilly though, so Julie kept her bolero on much of the time, and it was also dark and crowded. For most of the night we ended up standing on a balcony above the main dance floor, which limited the number of men who could see down Julie's gown. Limited but not eliminated, I should add. When I asked Julie later if anything made her uncomfortable while we were in the club she said there were a few times when she felt nervous, wondering if a man was standing near or talking to us just so he could look down her dress. I laughed and said probably, after all you look gorgeous, but as long as he didn't do anything rude there's no harm done, it's just part of the game.

The party wound down and we left to catch our train on time. While we were waiting for it to load we saw several other couples decked out in formal attire also, but we suspected they, unlike us, had attended one of the official Inaugural Balls. Once seated we found the train again well heated, and I was pleased to see, well lighted also. Julie settled into the aisle seat once again. My wife was on a medication that makes her drowsy, which she put off taking until we left the Ball. That, the late hour, and all the accumulated commotion, made Julie pretty tired, and it wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep snuggled against my left side. Julie had her coat off but her bolero was still draped around her shoulders.

While I was generally pleased with the way the day had gone, part of me was still a little disappointed. I thought it would be warmer inside the club so Julie could discard her bolero at coat check. I thought we would be mingling much more allowing many more men to ogle Julie. I was hoping it wouldn't be quite so damn dark inside, and so on. I guess I was also just sorry to see this special day of showing off Julie coming to an end. So I decided to push the limits further while I still had a chance.

I leaned my own head into Julie's shoulder and moved my right arm until my hand was holding her right arm near her elbow. Snuggled up against her like that I pretended to go to sleep, with my eyes kept open a slit to see if anyone was watching us. Since no one was sitting opposite us the only time anyone could see what I was up to was if they walked down the aisle. And what I was up to was shifting my right hand slightly so that I could hook a finger into the side of Julies dress at the skin line, while applying pressure down.

I noticed the way Julie's bolero draped her shoulders obscured my view of the progress I was making as I feverishly worked to expose my wife. Being careful not to be noticed, I pulled her bolero open first at my side, and then reached across Julie's chest to flick the fabric off her left breast. Her bolero was still on, but now it lay wide open leaving my wife more vividly revealed. While doing this I noticed that the fold on Julie's skirt had opened, exposing some of her thigh, so I pulled that cloth further aside also, leaving a broad V shaped expanse of Julie's flesh uncovered, pointing directly to her crotch.

Now I returned my right hand to Julie's right side, and resumed tugging down on her dress. Occasionally I froze when someone walked by us down the aisle, pretending to be fast asleep. I am sure at least one man made a return round trip by us. But Julie's dress was well tailored, and difficult to lower, at least while she was seated. I thought  I wasn't making that much progress until I made a startling observation. It wasn't so much that Julie's gown was slipping down, it was actually slipping sideways, from left to right, and the cleavage revealing V cut at the center of the bodice, meant to line up directly between her breasts, was slowly migrating toward me across my wife's right breast.

When I realized this I was stunned, because, to be honest, I didn't really think I would get away with actually flashing Julie's nipples on Amtrak. The gown would have to fall down too far I thought, and I was afraid the result would look as intentional as it actually was.  That could have gotten us into trouble, which I worried about. This way though was different. Julie's evening gown was never meant to sleep in. Who could say that the slit up the front of her dress didn't innocently fall open? Who could say that her bolero hadn't innocently fallen open also? And who could say that Julie's strapless gown hadn’t innocently twisted to the side when she shifted in her sleep to make herself more comfortable?


Armed with this insight I kept tugging at Julie's gown while she slept dead to the world, and watched more of her right breast spring into view. To be honest, from the angle my head was resting, I couldn't fully appreciate the effect all this was having on Julie's left breast. I knew the lower cut at the side of her gown was sliding over revealing more of it, I just couldn't tell how much. But the liberating effect on my wife's right breast was stark and unmistakable, more and more of her pale flesh emerged into the light until suddenly the pink glow surrounding Julie's nipple slid out from under the black velvet of her gown.

In a daze I kept pulling until almost half of my wife’s right nipple was out from beneath the dress. The way the fabric now stretched pinched tightly into Julie’s tit, forcing the exposed part of her ripe bud to thrust upward from her breast, an erotic consequence of the gown still constraining the covered half. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it might wake Julie.

Without moving my head I carefully opened my eyes more than the squint I had frozen them at. Right there next to me was the most erotic sight I had ever seen. Here on an Amtrak train lay my usually modest wife, sprawled out sleeping on an aisle seat under bright lights, in her low cut strapless black velvet gown, precariously now clinging scandalously low.  The pitch black contrast of Julie's strategically arranged gown framed her exposed white body and made my wife look almost more naked than if she had been nude. The slit of Julie's skirt was pulled wide open exposing much of her thighs, more than enough to incite any mans imagination. Her bolero was flipped off her chest leaving virtually all of her barely clad breasts brazenly visible, but the crowning glory was my wife's right nipple, oozing out from beneath black velvet, clear as day.

I couldn't believe this was really happening but I thought I would get away with it. I was wearing a full Tux, Julie was in an evening gown. We were obviously respectable people who had come down for Bush's inauguration and fallen asleep on the train going home. I left it with Julie's nipple only half exposed because I knew that would seem more believable than if I tried to pop most of her breast completely out of her dress. To be honest though, I think my wife looked more erotic this way, her modesty more subtly betrayed. Julie was a vision of innocence violated, sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to her blatantly erotic public display.

About this time the train slowed down to make a stop in Philadelphia (or a suburb, I can't remember) and I was a delirious near total nervous wreck. I knew we would get busted if anyone realized I was actually awake, so I kept my head snuggled against Julie in a natural sleeping position. Unfortunately that meant I couldn't see very much through the slit in my eye lids from that angle, but I was determined not to move a muscle. What I could see were people's legs when they moved down the aisle past us on the train, which happened several times as people rose to get off the train. I strained to hear any comments but my hearing isn't great anymore, my best ear was pressed against the seat, and there was back ground noise to filter out.

More people got on Amtrak in Philadelphia than had just departed, and at least 7 or 8 people walked right past the seat Julie was sprawled across half naked. Again though, my impaired vision and hearing kept me from confirming anyone's obvious reactions to the spectacle of my wife lying exposed right there next to them. They had to see though. Everyone getting on a train looks at all the seats as they pass by, that's how you decide where to sit. And there was no missing Julie, with her lush 36C's swimming out of her low cut strapless black velvet gown, the skirt parted into a wide delta suggestively revealing most of my wife's shapely thighs.

So I was thrilled of course, but again with that nagging hint of frustration. The day still lacked a defining Voila! moment, when some stranger looked at my wife and totally lost it, when I knew he was viewing Julie as a sexual object with absolutely no pretense of hiding it. It was about this time that the conductor entered our car to collect fares from the new passengers who had just gotten on, as I could hear the familiar call, "Tickets please", approaching from the seats behind us.

The conductor was a large guy, probably in his 40's and handsome enough, with a short just starting to gray black beard. And he was sociable. When he collected our tickets in DC, he engaged us in some light conversation. I wasn't sure if he was checking Julie out then, but if he was he kept his composure. But that was before my wife fell asleep and I went to work on her gown. He hadn't returned since I transformed Julie's attire (or lack of it) from a formal example of elegant sensuality to a brazenly raw sexual display. This was the real test of my resolve to violate Julie's modesty in public. However friendly he might have been before, the conductor is the voice of authority on a train, and I knew as he moved slowly down the car he was certain to notice my wife half nude on the aisle where any passenger could find her.

Would he decide to wake us to cover Julie? My wife would absolutely freak to be found by a man that way and I shuddered to think of the wrenching scene that would follow. But knowing that this conductor, a man who 45 minutes earlier stood joking with my wife, would soon find her completely defenseless, laid out to please him like a mere gift wrapped sex toy, that excited me. This was invasive. It meant peeling away the last shred of Julie's privacy. Offering my exposed wife now to a man she had talked with earlier made Julie's public humiliation much more intimate, and the thought was too intoxicating to resist. It was the middle of the night and there were no kids on the car. I decided to roll the dice and leave Julie as she was, nearly stripped, fully lit, sleeping helpless in her seat.

Of course I was as nervous as I was excited. It reminded me of an Eagle's lyric; "This could be heaven or this could be Hell". I had my eyes almost completely shut now, and I could just see a sliver of the aisle through my eyelashes. Believe me, I was taking no chances that the conductor might figure out I was really awake. I saw his coat brush past our row as he stopped at the seat in front of us to ask some woman for her fare. Absolutely no reaction. Damn, Damn! How could he gaze at my wife's lewd display, and then just go about his business?

Then it happened. In mid sentence the conductor completely lost his train of thought, stuttered and went silent. Finally he laughed and managed an apology to the passenger, openly confessing that the sight of Julie’s body splayed out in the seat behind her had totally absorbed his attention. I couldn't catch all their words, but this lady clearly had noted Julie's compromised condition earlier, because she assured the conductor that his distraction was quite understandable. He followed up with a direct comment about Julie's state that I couldn't quite make out. All together they chatted for maybe a minute, though it definitely felt longer to me, engaged in small talk over my disrobed wife.  Finally the conductor resumed his journey down the aisle and it was over.

The rest of the trip is sort of a blur. I know I left Julie in that condition for some number of minutes more until she stirred slightly in her sleep. Afraid that she would open her eyes and notice her nudity, I flipped Julie's bolero back over the gown where her nipple was falling out. Then I quickly closed the gap in her skirt a little, though still leaving a lot of her thigh visible. We rode a while longer till I realized I was pretty tired also. It felt too risky to potentially nod off and lose all control of the situation, so I tugged Julie's gown up just enough to recover her nipple and left my wife sleeping that way, as the train stopped several more times before pulling into Penn Station, where she pulled herself together in a sleepy daze.

In hind sight I'm amazed that I pushed the envelope so far with Julie on the train that night. There was nothing subtle about the way I posed her. Her breasts were spilling right out of her dress under bright white lighting, her nipple popping out in very clear view. My wife had the look of a peeled banana, the last remnants of her black gown merely emphasizing Julie's nakedness and vulnerability to everyone who passed by her, bare inches from her velvet framed, inexcusably exposed, and luridly available body.

It was just like being a teen again, with my raging hormones overwhelming all rational thought. What made me believe I could strip my wife in public without getting busted? Yes I had some special circumstances going for me, but a number of passengers saw Julie and not one lifted a finger to help her. The conductor, the man who could have stopped it, instead gave his leering consent, permitting my wife's exposure without looking the other way. Him standing over Julie, chatting about her unfortunate indecency with another women, was the fitting culmination of my wife's humiliation.

So I've got to thank you Guy, because you really made my day, but I'm sure that Julie made yours also.